The Rebel

by Jaime Raven

  ‘How are you doing, boss?’ Mike asked him.

  He grinned. ‘As always I’m feeling the pressure, Mikey. But as always I’m coping.’

  He climbed in the back and Mike closed the door.

  It might have been a Sunday but the traffic was still heavy. It would probably take them twenty minutes or more to get to Rotherhithe across the river.

  He was looking forward to a good old roast. As usual he’d skipped breakfast so he was ravenous.

  There was a time when he got them to pile up his plate with meat and potatoes, but not anymore. The cancer affected his appetite, so these days he could only manage small portions.

  They were across the river and into the back streets of Rotherhithe when his phone went off. The ringtone told him it was his mole inside the task force, the person who had provided him with the personal details of all the detectives, plus the home address of the Commissioner.

  He thought about not answering because he was in no mood to listen to another rant about how things had gone too far. But he decided he couldn’t take the chance in case it was something important.

  So he swiped the green icon and said, ‘If you’re gonna have a moan then I’m fucking hanging up.’

  ‘No, don’t.’ The voice that barked in his ear was loud and anxious and he felt a frisson of unease.

  ‘What is it?’ he said.

  ‘You need to stay at home, Roy. Don’t go out. You won’t be safe. I’ve got wind of a plot to—’

  But that was all he got to hear because at that moment Mike slammed hard on the brakes and he was thrown forward. He dropped the phone onto the floor between his feet and his face rammed the back of Mike’s seat.

  ‘What the fuck?’ he yelled.

  The Merc had skidded to a halt because a black van had swerved into its path. At once the van’s rear doors were thrown open and two men wearing balaclavas jumped out.

  Mike was slow to react. He was still trying to slam the car into reverse when his door was wrenched open and a revolver was shoved up against his face.

  ‘If you move I’ll blow your fucking head off,’ a deep male voice screamed at him.

  At the same time the back door was yanked open and the other guy told Slack to get out.

  Slack didn’t move, so the guy reached in, grabbed his arm and pulled him onto the road.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ Slack shouted.

  ‘We’re your worst fucking nightmare,’ the man said.

  The guy with the gun smashed it against Mike’s head, rendering him unconscious. Both men then dragged Slack over to the van and ordered him to get in the back.

  He refused so the gun was pushed up against his back and the man holding it said, ‘You have five seconds to do as you’re told and if you’re still standing here then you’re a dead man.’

  Three seconds later Slack was in the back of the van and he heard the engine roar as it accelerated forward.

  He was told to lie on the floor between the two men, who were sitting on fixed benches.

  When he tried to speak the one with the gun, the taller of the two, kicked him hard in the ribs, which sent a blast of pain through his entire body.

  ‘Speak only when you’re spoken to,’ the guy said sharply.

  He knew better than to argue. These blokes meant business, and he sensed that all they needed was an excuse to beat the shit out of him.

  So he just lay there, his left cheek pressed against the cold, hard floor, his breath thumping in his ears.

  He wondered if Mike had regained consciousness and had raised the alarm. Who would he call first? Danny probably. But there wasn’t much Danny could do, not without more information.

  It was unlikely Mike had noted the van’s registration number, and Slack hadn’t spotted any onlookers when he was pulled from the car.

  The ambush had taken place in a quiet street, one that he knew pretty well. There weren’t any houses or flats. Just some drab commercial units and a disused factory. Chances were no one saw what happened.

  The kidnappers had chosen a good spot, and he guessed they must have followed the Merc from the apartment building. He cursed Mike for not spotting them. But then the traffic was heavy until they left the main roads.

  The two men remained silent so all he could hear were his own thoughts and the chugging of the engine.

  The tables had certainly been turned on him. He couldn’t even hazard a guess as to how many times he had ordered the same stunt to be pulled on men he wanted to punish. It must have run into dozens.

  So was that their intention? To punish him?

  The warning from the mole inside the task force had come too late.

  Don’t go out. You won’t be safe. I’ve got wind of a plot to …

  If it had been just minutes earlier he would have stayed in the apartment or arranged for a tooled-up crew to accompany him to the restaurant.

  But he had lucked out, and now he was at the mercy of these men in masks. And he had no idea where they were taking him.

  57

  Laura

  I waited until Aidan’s parents arrived before I left the hospital. The plan was for me to go home and get changed before going to the Yard.

  Aidan was happy for me to return to work if Drummond was prepared to let me. In fact he positively encouraged it.

  ‘They need all the help they can get,’ he told me. ‘You’re wasted sitting here with me. I’m fine. You know that. So get back into the game, for everyone’s sake. And find the fucking bitch who did this to me, even if you have to break the rules to do so.’

  There was fire in his eyes as he spoke and his words were like slaps to my face. They prompted me to think the unthinkable – that perhaps the only way to bring this whole thing to an end was to break the rules.

  I was taken home in an unmarked police car with two armed officers. The forensic technicians had finished their work and our house was in a much better state. The kitchen doors had been replaced and most of the mess cleared up. But there was still a fair amount of damage that would have to be repaired in the coming weeks either by us or the landlord. We’d need a new dishwasher for one thing, and a new patio light.

  However, I still wasn’t sure I wanted to go on living there even if the interior were to be given a complete makeover. It just didn’t feel the same anymore and I doubted that it ever would.

  I showered and put on a beige sweater and grey trousers, which I wore under a black wool trench coat. I then got my armed escort to take me to the Yard.

  We drove north through Clapham and Lambeth, and as usual the streets were heaving. London always came to life on a Sunday. Tourists and day-trippers turned out in force and now they were being joined by Christmas shoppers.

  The way life was carrying on made it seem like the city wasn’t in the midst of a crisis. But it was. A crisis that had already cost the lives of four people.

  It had started out as an investigation by the task force into Roy Slack’s criminal empire. Now it was much more than that. Murders had been committed. Threats made. The police, whose job it was to protect the people of London, could no longer protect themselves. It was a terrible state of affairs.

  And for me it was also personal. I’d lost a baby. My boyfriend was lying in hospital with a bullet wound. One of my colleagues was dead. My mother was living in fear. And my house had been shot up.

  So naturally I was angry. In fact a rage I had never known had taken hold of every cell in my body.

  And it was directed at two people. One was Roy Slack, the man who was seeking a brutal revenge against the Met.

  And the other was the bloodthirsty bitch who was helping him.

  I arrived at the New Scotland Yard building just before two o’clock. The car dropped me outside the entrance on the Victoria Embankment.

  The sight that greeted me brought tears to my eyes. The paving slabs around the entrance were covered with flowers that had been laid as a tribute to those who’d been killed, including the Commissioner, J
ohn Saunders.

  Some of the bunches were stacked beneath the famous revolving sign carrying the words New Scotland Yard. Others spilled over onto the pavement.

  There were dozens of people around and some of them looked visibly upset. I also saw two TV camera crews who were filming what was going on.

  I quickly entered the building so they didn’t spot me. The atmosphere inside was understandably tense and muted. Most people were still in shock. They spoke quietly, eyes downcast, grief etched into their features. I’d expected this but it was still difficult to take.

  Upstairs in the task force office, the team were hard at it. Rushing around. Talking into phones. Tapping furiously at keyboards. There were some people I didn’t recognise, no doubt drafted in from other departments.

  Several of my colleagues stopped what they were doing when they saw me walk in and two of them – Kate Chappell and Janet Dean – came over to see how I was.

  ‘Laura,’ Kate bellowed as she approached. ‘What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with Aidan?’

  ‘I was,’ I said. ‘But his parents are with him right now and he’s doing well. We both thought that I’d be more useful here.’

  Janet pulled a face. ‘That goes against protocol, love. You’re the girlfriend of one of the victims.’

  I shrugged. ‘I’m sure that won’t be an issue considering how bad things are.’

  ‘Well, Drummond’s in his office,’ Janet said. ‘Let me know how you get on. Perhaps we can have a coffee downstairs.’

  ‘So have there been any developments?’

  Janet shook her head. ‘Sadly, no. We’re working in tandem with other divisions, but the truth is we’re still chasing our tails.’

  ‘What about the woman? I saw the latest security footage from the hotel.’

  It was Kate who answered. ‘Well, it won’t surprise you to learn that she’s vanished. We’re now waiting for her to resurface and strike again. And at the same time we’re praying that she won’t.’

  ‘So we don’t know where she went after leaving the hotel?’

  ‘We’ve heard from a taxi driver who thinks he gave her a lift to London Bridge station. A couple of guys are now trawling through the CCTV tapes from there.’

  ‘That’s not very encouraging. What’s the latest on Roy Slack? Did we bring him in again?’

  ‘Drummond decided there was no point and I have to agree.’ This from Janet. ‘He won’t change his story and his lawyer has already lodged a formal complaint saying that we’re harassing him. We even pulled the surveillance crew away from his home last night because there’s a desperate shortage of people now.’

  ‘This is crazy,’ I said. ‘We know he’s behind this.’

  ‘But we don’t know for sure, Laura,’ Janet said. ‘And that’s the problem.’

  My temper sparked. ‘Don’t tell me the bastard has convinced you that our suspicions are misplaced and he’s really just a poor innocent sod who’s dying of cancer.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Janet said with an expansive shrug. ‘He’s still a suspect. But there’s absolutely nothing to tie him to the killings except the idea that he’s getting revenge against the Met.’

  ‘It’s more than just an idea, Janet. It’s fucking obvious.’

  ‘Not to me it isn’t. And Drummond’s been taking stick for focusing too much time and effort on Slack. The Commissioner himself raised it with him before he was shot.’

  I shook my head and the indignation rose within me.

  ‘This is bollocks,’ I said, and it came out louder than I’d intended.

  ‘Hey, calm down, Laura,’ Janet responded. ‘I know you’re upset, but we’re coppers. We’re supposed to deal in evidence, not conjecture.’

  I felt my heart heat up. ‘Fuck me, Janet. It sounds like you want the bastard to get away with it. And he will if we don’t go after him.’

  Anger flared in Janet’s eyes. ‘How dare you say that? The fact is we’ve drawn a big fat blank where Slack is concerned. So maybe you’ve convinced yourself it’s him because you want it to be. And that’s dangerous and unprofessional.’

  ‘You’re talking rubbish,’ I said.

  ‘Am I?

  ‘Yes, and you bloody well know it.’

  As we stared at each other a startling thought occurred to me. Was it possible that Janet Dean was the bent copper inside the task force? Was that why she was springing to Slack’s defence?

  I wanted to ask her. To blurt it out.

  Are you on his payroll?

  Is that how you can afford a posh house and a boat?

  Did you provide him with our personal details?

  But I resisted, knowing that I was probably wrong. Knowing too that if I said it I couldn’t take it back.

  Instead I turned sharply and stormed across the room towards Drummond’s office.

  His door was open and I could see him at his desk watching the TV. When he saw me approach he stood up and waved me inside.

  ‘You’re not supposed to be here,’ he said. ‘I told you to take all the time off you need to be with Aidan.’

  ‘I don’t need any more time off, guv,’ I said. ‘Aidan is much better and he’s being well looked after. I’ll be more useful helping out on the investigation.’

  He gestured for me to sit down and then shook his head as he perched himself on the edge of the desk.

  ‘That’s not an option, Laura,’ he said. ‘You’re in no fit state mentally to be working. You’ve had an awful shock and we can’t ignore the fact that one of the victims is your partner.’

  ‘But I’m all right, guv. Honestly. And you can’t possibly have enough people to cope with what’s happening.’

  He thought about it while chewing on the inside of his cheek.

  Drummond had never been a stickler for rules and protocol so I was hoping that he wouldn’t make a big thing of it and would just give me the go-ahead to return to duty.

  After a few seconds he opened his mouth to speak, but then his attention was suddenly drawn to the television screen.

  ‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘I want to hear this.’

  He grabbed the remote from his desk and turned up the volume. Then together we watched the Prime Minister step up to a lectern outside 10 Downing Street.

  She then made a short statement about the COBRA meeting that had just finished and which she’d chaired. Her face was glum and her voice strained as she spoke into a microphone.

  ‘I called the COBRA meeting following the murder of the Metropolitan Police Commissioner, John Saunders,’ she said. ‘He was the latest victim of a campaign of terror against police officers and their families. This morning we agreed ways to step up our response. The measures include transferring officers from other constabularies into London. The security services and the Counter Terrorism Command will play a more active role. They’ll work alongside those teams already involved in the various investigations.’

  She went on to describe what was happening as appalling and despicable, and she named all the victims, including Aidan.

  She then commended what she said was the courage of the officers on the organised crime task force who had been directly threatened in the anonymous text messages.

  ‘Those detectives deserve our full support and respect for continuing to work despite the risks to themselves,’ she said.

  After reading the statement she declined to take questions from reporters and went back inside her official residence.

  Drummond then muted the sound and shook his head at the screen. His eyes were puffy and red, and his dark hair was uncombed. He suddenly looked much older than his forty-eight years and it was obvious that the pressure was getting to him.

  I waited for him to say something, but he seemed lost in his thoughts so I cleared my throat to get his attention. When that didn’t work, I said, ‘Are you all right, guv?’

  He snapped his head towards me, as though coming out of a trance.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Sorry. I was just t
hinking about the last time I saw the Commissioner. He came down here yesterday afternoon, sat exactly where you’re sitting now.’

  Another shake of the head, and then he rubbed his face, as though trying to erase the stress.

  ‘Who’s in charge?’ I asked him. ‘I mean until a new Commissioner is appointed.’

  ‘The Assistant Commissioner, Geena Donaldson,’ he said. ‘She’s giving a press conference in an hour.’

  ‘A good choice,’ I said.

  Drummond nodded. ‘In time she’ll probably get the job, but it won’t happen until this nightmare comes to an end. And none of us knows when that will be.’

  After a beat, I said, ‘I’ve just been told that—’

  I didn’t get to finish the sentence because Detective Gloria Stanford burst into the office at this point with news of a development. And it hit me for six.

  ‘We’ve had a call, sir,’ she said. ‘It’s about Roy Slack. He’s apparently been abducted.’

  58

  Slack

  ‘Who the fuck are you guys and what do you want with me?’

  It was the same question he’d been asking for half an hour. But his abductors continued to ignore him.

  There were three of them now, including the van driver. They stood together over by the big double doors, looking outside anxiously while talking to each other in whispers. He got the impression that they were almost as nervous as he was.

  The tall one had put his gun back inside his leather jacket and had replaced it in his right hand with a cigarette, which he drew on every couple of seconds.

  Slack watched them from the chair they’d tied him to using duct tape. His wrists were secured behind his back and his ankles to the front legs of the chair.

  They were in a car mechanic’s workshop, and the only window had a thick curtain across it. A fluorescent strip light hummed and stuttered on the ceiling above him.

  It had taken them about fifteen minutes to get here after they’d snatched him, so he reckoned he was somewhere in South or East London.

  He didn’t see the exterior of the building because they backed the van up against the doors before dragging him out. Once inside, they’d forced him onto the chair in the centre of the workshop and warned him to be quiet.